


tell me you're with me so far

by jennycaakes, MelikaElena



Series: love will be enough for us [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Linctavia - Freeform, Background everything, Break Up, EVERYONE IS ALIVE AND HAPPY, Friendship, Healing, M/M, background Bellarke, background masper, background memori - Freeform, background wellven - Freeform, delinquent friendship, so much, so much love, this is our baby, we love Our Baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6841444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/pseuds/MelikaElena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What’s a guy to do when his long-term boyfriend unexpectedly breaks up with him? The answer is not, by the way, do reckless things like push away all of your best friends and fall a little bit in love with a boy you barely know.</p><p>Nathan Miller does them, anyway. </p><p>Miller and friendship focused, Minty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me you're with me so far

**Author's Note:**

> We started this fic back in (J: when did we start this???? M: We started this during Oscar night. At least one of us was drunk) and it’s finally come to fruition. It was spun from drunken ramblings and sleeping pill induced ramblings and turned into this. Origins aside, we’re very proud of this. We went into this with a very strong Minty focus, but then we kind of fell in love with the idea that Miller’s friendship with various individuals post-breakup made him strong, and went from there. We hope you enjoy our BABY! Love, Jel (aka Jenn and Mel)
> 
> Title from Gavin DeGraw's "Where You Are"

**One.**

The picture on Skype fizzles and fades, Bryan’s blocky face focusing and unfocusing as the internet connection struggles. Miller frowns and contemplates hitting his laptop, but the wifi at Arkadia University has never been the best and that isn’t his laptop’s fault.

“Nathan?” Bryan’s voice is just as broken as the picture. “You there?”

“Fucking Arkadia wifi,” Miller mutters. Finally Bryan’s picture comes in, his warm familiar smile. “Hey.”

“Hey. It’s definitely _your_ wifi that sucks,” Bryan tells him, reminding him without explicitly stating it that he’s away in Rome while Miller’s stuck in the states. “It’s good to see you,” he says.

Miller’s chest feels warm. “Good to see you, too,” he says. It feels good just to _hear his voice_. Bryan’s only been gone for a week, right before Christmas break ended, but it feels like so much longer. He rocks back in his seat and pulls his legs up into the chair, crossing them under him. “How are things there? The photos you put up are amazing, Bellamy’s losing his damn mind.”

Bryan laughs. “Of course he is.” The image quality goes down again. “It’s amazing. I wish you could’ve come.” Miller swallows his disappointment at Bryan’s words, wishing he could’ve gone to Rome, too, but despite Miller’s dad’s job being one of the better paying ones, it’s still a single-family household. They just didn’t have the money to send Miller to Rome for a semester. That had been the dream, though, Miller and Bryan together in Rome, learning and sight-seeing and being that annoying, love-struck couple. “Nathan?” Bryan asks, his voice scratchy from the connection again. “Still there?”

“Yeah. I’m still here.”

“Good. Okay, listen,” Bryan starts. The way his voice shifts makes Miller’s eyebrow come together. He’s quiet for a moment and then he sighs, the sound full of static. “I can’t do this.”

“Do _what_? Be in Rome? You just said--”

“No, the--the _distance_.”

“I don’t like it either,” Miller admits. God, he _hates_ it. “But it’s only six months, and--”

“Nathan,” Bryan tries again. The clarity in Bryan’s voice makes Miller’s stomach drop. He starts shaking his head, dreading where this conversation is going. “There’s someone here,” Bryan finally says. It feels like Miller’s been punched in the stomach. He leans backwards in his seat again, trying to distance himself from the computer. “I didn’t--I didn’t cheat on you or anything like that, I just--I don’t _want_ to. It’s not fair to you and--”

“You’ve been there for a _week_ ,” Miller cuts him off. “Unless it’s fucking _Adonis_ I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

Bryan sighs another time. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. “But… this hasn’t come out of nowhere, right? Things haven’t been right between us for a while.”

Bryan isn’t _wrong_ \-- there have been some fights lately. College is getting more difficult as they both are nearly done with the easier core classes and are starting to focus on their majors; doing different extracurriculars; even, to a certain extent, having different friends. And then this study abroad thing… they had a few spectacular spats over whether Bryan would even go without Miller (Miller said yes; Bryan had argued no). But there’s nothing there that Miller thinks is worth breaking up over. It’s a rough patch. It happens to everyone.

“Don’t want to hurt me? Too fucking late for that,” Miller mutters. “What the hell, Bryan? We’ve been together for _years_ and you know a guy for a fucking week and you want to throw that all away?” Miller’s hands ball into fists out of reflex. “No, this is bullshit. You’ve got to be kidding me. This is a joke.”

“Nathan,” Bryan says again, his voice laced with sadness. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Harder than it…” Miller trails off before tipping head back in a laugh. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Memory after memory is being tossed through Miller’s mind. He and Bryan have been together since high school. They came out to their parents together. They went to dances together, they took classes together, they were _together_. If someone wanted to spend time with Miller they knew they would be spending time with Bryan, too, and vice versa. Prom, graduation. Football games. Studying for tests. Weekends in eating pizza. It was always Miller and Bryan, Bryan and Miller. _One person_ could take that all away from them in a matter of days? Make it void? “Who is it?” Miller asks.

“You don’t know him.”

“I don’t--that’s all you’re gonna give me? Three fucking years and all you’re gonna give me is that I don’t know him.”

“Nathan, _please_.”

“Or did you forget?” Miller asks. “That we’ve been together for three years?” Miller knew he was rubbing salt into this wound. Five minutes ago he could’ve cried at the sight of his boyfriend's face and now he wanted him to hurt. “This is pathetic. I can’t believe you’re serious. After everything we’ve been through together.”

“It’s not--you _know_ I love you,” Bryan tries again, his voice edging on desperation.

“Oh, yeah? If you love me then why the hell are we having this stupid fucking conversation?”

“Because this is something else!” The explosion on Bryan’s part makes Miller pause. “ _He’s_ something _else_. Something I haven’t felt in a while, and he makes me want to do things I’d never do.” Anger is hot in Miller’s chest, burning up his throat and stinging his eyes. He clenches his teeth together to keep himself from shouting. “I don’t _know_ , okay? It’s just--I don’t want to hurt you. And this is the only way I know how to do this without hurting you.”

Miller shakes his head, because this hurts either way. Even if Bryan suddenly changed his mind, decided the time he’d been with Miller was more important, it wouldn’t matter, because for those brief moments Bryan had chosen someone else. And now he’s _completely_ choosing someone else.

“I don’t understand,” Miller rasps. It feels like Bryan doesn’t really understand either. “Three years,” Miller says another time. “For a guy you’ve known for a week.”

Bryan shakes his head too. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I don’t think you are,” Miller says. His throat feels thick. “I have to go.”

“Nath--” Bryan tries to say something else, but Miller ends the call in a click. His feet come out from under him and he lets out a shuddering breath.

Miller’s eyes are burning. His eyes flicker across the Murphy’s desk where his schedule is taped up, wondering when his roommate will be home, before Miller’s eyes fill with tears. Angry, frustrated, Miller swats at his face and orders himself to stop. _Stop._ But every breath feels labored, every second that passes feels longer and more painful than the one before. Three years gone for one week. Three years gone in ten minutes.

Miller rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms and focuses. _Inhale, exhale._ Big fucking deal. Right? Just the guy he thought he was going to fucking marry ended things. Everything’s fine. Adapt. Move on.

But his lungs feel like they’re full of water and every breath is more terrifying than the last. Soon Miller’s gasping for air, squeezing his eyes shut, hating himself for how this happened. So quickly, so fucking quickly. Part of him wants to reach for his phone and call his dad so he can hear his father’s voice. _You’re a catch, Nate_ , he would say. _You know it’s his loss. I’m so sorry, Buddy._ Another part of him wants to call Bellamy, knowing it would be a short conversation. _I’m already on my way_ , Bellamy would say, starting over the second he saw Miller’s name considering he isn’t one for phone calls. And again part of him wants to call Raven. _I’ve got a bottle of vodka with your name on it_ , she’d say, and arrive within the hour to get him plastered. But a bigger part of him wants to call Bryan back, demand more of an explanation, beg for another chance.

In the end Miller ends up doing none of the above. He stares at Skype until Bryan logs off, and even then he can’t bring himself to stop looking at his computer.

* * *

Miller’s still sitting in his desk chair when Murphy enters, swinging the door open loudly and banging around like he always does. “You’ll never fucking believe what Octavia--” Murphy starts, but stops when he finds Miller. “The hell happened to you?”

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Hoo-boy,” Murphy hums, letting the door slam shut behind him. A nasty grin takes his face. “Bad day, Nathan, my dear?”

“Murphy, I swear to fucking God,” Miller snaps, turning and standing all at once. “That if you don’t leave me the _fuck_ alone, I will beat the literal shit out of you.” Murphy seems surprised, taken aback at the tone of Miller’s voice. He arches an eyebrow but Miller doesn’t relent. “I swear to God,” he repeats.

“One of your favorite characters die or something?” Murphy asks as he drops his backpack on the ground with a thud. “Hate to break it to you, but we _all_ knew Macbeth was going to bite the bullet.” There’s less mockery in his voice than Miller expects, which just makes him feel worse.

He collapses back into his seat, looking at his laptop that’s still open. “Bryan broke up with me.”

Murphy freezes. “Fuck. Are you serious?”

“No, I’m _joking_ ,” Miller snaps back. “Fuck you.”

“Shit, Miller.”

“So, again,” Miller grits, “can you leave me the _fuck_ alone?”

“Unfortunately the answer to that question is no. Because, also unfortunately,” Murphy continues as he kicks off his shoes, “this is my room, too.” Murphy digs in his pocket for his phone and because the sound is on Miller hears every little _click-click-click_ of the message that he’s typing.

“What are you doing?” Miller asks.

“Nothing.”

“Who are you texting?” Miller demands, preparing to stand again and yank the phone from Murphy’s hand. “Murphy for the love of--” _dwoop_ , the message sends. Miller finally makes it to his feet and strides across the room. “God, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“It’s just _Mom_ ,” Murphy says back, that sick smile sliding onto his face again. Miller growls.

Everyone knows Bellamy is Mom™. Bellamy’s been the Mom-Friend ever since he found out Finn had cheated on Raven (which ended with Raven befriending the other girl, but whatever) and absolutely _lost his shit_. He’s always the designated driver, he’s always the one to text and make sure people get in safe, he’s always the one making sure everyone’s still alive. He’s a couple years older than most of them, too, which just makes him weirdly protective, like they’re his children. The nickname stuck.

“He doesn’t need to know,” Miller forces out. Not about this, not about Bryan. Not yet, anyway. Miller’s barely had time to process it for himself.

“Well, it’s a little late for that. Oh, look at that, he’s responding.”

Miller snatches the phone from Murphy’s hand so he can read the message.

 **_From Bellamy - 4:03 PM_ ** **_  
_ ** **_I’m on my way over now. Give me ten minutes._ **

With another groan, Miller tosses the phone back to Murphy before sinking back into his seat at his desk.

* * *

**Two.**

Geology 101, or Rocks for Jocks, as it’s known around campus for being so notoriously easy that even the jocks could 4.0 it, is far from Miller’s favorite class. As an English major with a focus in theater, this class is just an easy way to fulfill his science requirements. Granted, the class material isn’t terrible-- it even has the potential to be interesting, but the professor is dry as hell, and the pacing of the class is ridiculously slow. Miller normally uses that time to catch up on his other classes, or he brings in a battered paperback that’s easy to hide under the desk and read.

His deskmate and lab partner, a slight, cute Asian guy, is simultaneously the best and worst part about the class. He’s just _too much_ \-- too friendly, too smiley, talks too much, and he always jiggles his right leg, the leg closest to Miller, making difficult to concentrate on his book. He has _very_ nice calves, which Miller’s always felt guilty for thinking, although not anymore because fucking _Bryan_ \--

“Hey,” the guy-- Monty-- whispers, leaning over so closely that Miller can smell his aftershave (which smells annoyingly good). “Whatcha reading?”

Miller pulls back a little bit, glares at him. He flips the book closed so that the cover’s revealed instead of answering him. _Medea_ , by Euripides. You know, just a classic tale about a devoted woman whose husband left her for a younger woman. He’s reading it for his Greek mythology class and not because he identifies with Medea at all. Honest.

“Oh,” Monty winces. “ _Yikes._ ”

Miller raises an eyebrow. “You’ve read it?”

“Eh, read, Sparknotes, same thing,” Monty says.

Miller scowls. He’s never touched a Sparknotes in his life and doesn’t plan on it. Then again, he remembers from the first day of class when they were doing that “getting to know you” bullshit that Monty said he’s a computer science major, so that makes sense. The guy probably isn’t interested in reading anything that’s not in code (Miller doesn’t know how to code and doesn’t really get what it is, but he assumes it functions like another language).

“Right,” Miller says, flatly, inching away, hoping Monty doesn’t notice. He usually only barely tolerates Monty’s incessant chatter, but today he’s really not having it. Bellamy let him skip classes for a week, drowning in his own filth, but he showed up at 8 am this morning and told Miller in no uncertain terms that today was the day he was going to emerge from his cocoon of misery and go to class.

Judging by the little grin that darts across Monty’s face, he totally noticed what Miller did, yet that doesn’t stop him from trying to talk to Miller throughout the entire class period.

When they’re dismissed, Miller’s surprised to find that he’s not as annoyed as he thought he’d be, because for forty-five minutes, he hadn’t thought about Bryan once.

* * *

Miller’s friends are driving him fucking crazy.

They mean well, they really do, but like, can’t they let a guy workout constantly, have a terrible sleeping schedule, and eat nothing but protein shakes and Snickers bars in peace? Just let him be a mess, okay.

“I let you be one all the time,” Miller sneered once at Bellamy, who very kindly ignored him (Miller felt awful afterward, but couldn’t bring himself to apologize for it).

Not only does Bellamy ignore Miller’s antagonistic, angsty teenager-esque remarks, but is going full-on Mom Mode™, pounding on Miller’s door every morning and every evening, making him go down to the dining hall and eat with him, making sure he’s hydrating and eating more than just junk food, peering down at whatever’s on Miller’s tray to make sure that he’s hitting all of the essential food groups. He even sics _Murphy_ on him, and worse of all, Murphy listens and follows through, making sure Miller keeps up on his daily hygiene routines (usually by saying shit like, “I swear to god, Miller, if you don’t fucking shower today I’m gonna dump a bucket of water over your head and ruin all of the fucking paperbacks you stash under your mattress.”).

It’s gotten to the point where, if someone finds out he’s going to the gym, _they come with him_ to make sure he’s not working out too hard. A guy runs for three hours straight on a treadmill one time and then gets a little dizzy after, and suddenly it’s the end of the world. What a bunch of assholes.

Class is the only time they leave him the fuck alone, and that’s after they surreptitiously make sure he’s going regularly. (Octavia is not as sneaky as she thinks she is, but Miller’s too damn tired to call her out on it.)

Unsurprisingly, classes become his refuge; what _is_ surprising is that someone who he considered one of the most annoying people in his life a mere three weeks ago is now probably the _least_ annoying, incessant talking and all.

“I mean, normally I like a little scruff,” Monty’s saying, tapping Miller’s beard with a pencil. They’re both sitting in the back of the large lecture hall, ignoring Professor Pike, as usual. “But this is getting out of hand, Nate.” Miller pushes the pencil away with a frown, scowling in Monty’s direction. Unfortunately, for Monty, Miller’s already having a shitty day. “You okay?”

“Just peachy.”

Bryan posted a picture on Instagram with his new boyfriend, or whatever that guy is, holding hands with the fucking Colosseum in the background, Bryan looking like his usual handsome self and the guy looking like a Greek fucking God with his tan skin and muscled arms. Bellamy tried to stop Miller from seeing it but, let’s be honest, Miller looked at Bryan’s Instagram every fucking night, anyway.

(“What a shitweasel,” Raven snarled when she saw it. “Has he no fucking decency? You guys just broke up!”

“Raven,” Bellamy said, tiredly. She’s been on this tirade more than once over the past couple weeks.

“You want me to hack in?” Raven said seriously. “I know a guy. He could totally hack this douche nozzle’s account.”

“And do what? Replace all of the pictures with ones of kittens?” Miller snorted. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Raven shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said. “But I for one would rather see kittens on my dash than this bullshit.”)

Monty arches an eyebrow at Miller’s tone. “What are you doing this weekend?” Monty asks. “Some friends and I are going to this party. You should come.”

“No.”

“Okay, well don’t be _rude_ ,” Monty says, completely unperturbed by Miller’s tone. “When someone invites you out should at least say no, _thank you_.” Miller drops his eyes down to the samples of rocks that Professor Pike had passed around and tries, very hard, to ignore Monty. “C’mon,” Monty tries again, nudging him with his elbow. “It’s Thirsty Thursday.”

“Actually, it’s just Thursday,” Miller mutters. “You adding the word _thirsty_ to the front of it doesn’t make it special.”

“Damn,” Monty says before letting out a long whistle. “What _happened_ to you?”

The muscle ticking in Miller’s jaw should’ve alerted Monty that he’s pushing Miller to the edge, but alas, that muscle is on the side of Miller’s face that isn’t facing Monty. “None of your fucking business,” he snaps, so viciously that Monty rears back a little bit, teasing smile finally slipping off his face.

“Right,” he says, and this time it’s _him_ trying to inch away.

Well, _shit_.

Miller sighs, rubs a hand over his (admittedly) out of control beard. He really is the biggest asshole of all time, to hurt a guy like Monty Green’s feelings.

“I’m sorry,” Miller says quietly. “I, uh. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. I haven’t been myself lately.”

Monty scoffs. “What, an asshole? No, I would say you’ve been pretty consistent.”

Miller winces; he deserved that. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and it feels weird coming out of his mouth (Miller is not in the habit of apologizing, yet he’s done it twice in the last thirty seconds. What _is_ it about this kid?). “You’ve been trying to be nice and I didn’t need to take out all my shit on you.” He swallows. If Bryan can go to the fucking Colosseum then Miller can go to a goddamn party. “Uh, thanks for the party invite. If it’s… if it’s still okay, I’ll come.”

There’s a long pause, and then Monty’s turning to him with a bright, warm smile on his face. Miller blinks, a little dumbfounded by it. _Damn_ , this guy is Cute, with a capital C. “Apology accepted,” he says, and it’s all Miller can do to repress a sigh of relief. “To make it up to me, you can wear your best pair of jeans to the party, and by best, I mean the ones that make your ass look great,” he says with a wink. To his mortification, Miller blushes, and Monty notices right away. “Chill out, Nate,” Monty says with a laugh. “It was a joke.”

But Miller’s neck is still hot. He sincerely doubts that was a _complete_ joke. What has he gotten himself into?

* * *

**Three.**

After class, Miller made it abundantly clear to Monty that they were just going as friends-- and even then, _that_ was stretching it, considering they had never hung out outside of class before-- and Monty had just held up his hands in a “surrender” pose.

“Yeah, I figured,” he said with a laugh, “considering you said you’d go with a scowl on your face, instead of swooning the way I’d hoped.”

Monty winked at him, and Miller felt the back of his neck grow warm. God, this was _weird_ , being single and having cute boys flirt with you. _Stop it,_ he told himself sternly. _It’s barely been three weeks since Bryan--_

“Just tell me when and where, Green,” he snapped.

“Yikes, resorting to the last name,” Monty whistled. “I’m really getting to you, aren’t I?”

“Fuck off,” Miller said, pissed off that somehow, Monty was doing just that.

Which is how Miller finds himself, two days later, standing on the porch of a typical, run down house, self-consciously rubbing his face. He pounds on the door, wondering how in the hell he’s going to find Monty. From the sounds of it, there’s gotta be at least five dozen people in there--  

Miller fiddles with his phone so he won’t touch his face anymore, so he doesn’t notice the door opening for a few moments until he looks up and sees, of all people, Monty gaping at him.

“You shaved?” Monty says, looking aghast.

“Not by choice.”

“Not by choice?” Monty echoes. “What, did your roommate tie you to the bed and shave you in your sleep?” Miller opens his mouth to respond but Monty stops him. “Actually, don’t tell me. I’ll just keep picturing that.”

The truth of the matter is that Miller looked at himself in the mirror before going out and didn’t recognize himself. He was so screwed up after Bryan he hadn’t even _thought_ about shaving, but Monty was right when he’d pointed out that Miller’s beard had gotten a little out of hand. So he shaved. And afterwards he’d felt… different. Like something was about to change.

That feeling’s gone now, even as he follows Monty through the house filled with wasted college kids. There’s a song blasting in the living room that they walk through that Miller doesn’t know the name to, a Top 40 hit Miller hasn’t heard. There’s something humming under Miller’s skin. The excitement from the others around him is affecting him -- Miller hasn’t been out in _weeks_. Certainly not after Bryan…

He’d forgotten how much fun house parties can be. Bellamy’s never really been a fan of them (he prefers staying in and drinking rum while playing FIFA) and Murphy gets so drunk that he almost always gets kicked out for pissing somewhere he’s not supposed to, but Miller thinks they’re fun. The energy makes him feel like he’s part of something. They’re usually small enough that you get a chance to talk to everyone at least for a couple of minutes, but not too empty that it feels like you didn’t even need to go out.

“Babe!” Miller hears a shout and turns to find a shaggy haired boy striding toward Monty with his arms open. Miller tips his head slightly, curiously, to find an unbelievable grin on Monty’s face. “Don’t _ever_ leave me again,” the boy says, tugging Monty toward him and pressing a big sloppy kiss to his forehead. “You’re my soulmate,” he carries on. “No one else. And I am in love with you.”

“ _Jasper_ ,” Monty says with a laugh, wiping the kiss from his forehead. “What happened?”

“Am I not allowed to be in love with my best friend in the entire world?” Jasper asks, swinging his arm around Monty’s shoulder. Monty turns to Miller and makes a little face, wrinkling his nose every so slightly despite the bright smile on his face as to say _he’s joking_. “You would _never_ cheat on me.”

Something hot flares in Miller’s chest. “Oh, _boo_ ,” a girl calls from the nearby beer pong table. “I didn’t cheat on you, Jasper! And I didn’t cheat at all!”

“She totally cheated,” Jasper says in a mock-whisper. “Maya is _not_ that good at pong!”

“Oh!” She huffs, crossing the room to him and wrapping her arms around Jasper’s waist, tugging him away from Monty. “Give me back my boyfriend,” she says as Jasper smiles mischievously at her. “You’re the worst,” she says, guiding Jasper back to the table. “You haven’t even lost yet.”

With a laugh Monty shakes his head before tipping it in the direction of the kitchen, motioning for Miller to follow him. “Sorry,” Monty says as they walk away. “That’s my roommate. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

“He seems like a lot,” Miller murmurs.

“Oh, definitely he is. But you’ve met me, so you shouldn’t be all that surprised.” Miller tips his head in understanding before turning the corner into the kitchen.

Leaning against the counter with a red plastic cup in her hand, of all fucking people, is Raven Reyes. Her eyes widen when they spot Miller and he pauses in the middle of the walkway, narrowing his gaze on her. It takes her a second but soon she stands up straight, walking to meet him halfway.

“Well, well, well, look who decided to leave his bedroom,” Raven says, arching an eyebrow. She reaches toward him and grabs his chin. “You even shaved your Moses Beard.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Miller mutters, tugging his chin from Raven’s grasp.

“Clarke invited me. I think the real question is, what the hell are _you_ doing here, Miller?”

“Oh, you know Nate?” Monty asks, turning around to watch their interaction.

“Hey, Monty!” Raven was so focused on Giving Miller Shit, that she hadn’t noticed him standing there. Remembering his question, Raven smirks. “Nate?” she echoes.

Monty looks to Miller, then to Raven. “ _Not_ Nate?” he asks.

Raven’s smirk isn’t going anywhere soon. “Just haven’t heard someone call him that in a while,” she says. Even she lifts her cup in a mock-cheer. “Am I going to find Murphy in the living room?” Raven asks after taking a drink. “Because if so, I’m not going out there.”

“No,” Miller mutters. “Just me.”

Again her eyes are wide. “You came to a party… alone?”

“Nah, he’s with me,” Monty cheers. Raven’s eyes flicker to Monty, then back to Miller. There’s a question there he knows she won’t ask, at least in front of Monty. Miller doesn’t give anything away, he just holds Raven’s gaze. “I’ll get us drinks,” Monty says, not noticing the weird tension in the air as he darts off to mix something.

Raven strides forward and grabs Miller’s arm. “What are you _doing_? And with Monty Green?” she nearly hisses. “Does Bellamy know you’re here?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Reyes, he’s not _actually_ our mom.” She scowls at Miller and releases her hold on him. “I’m at a party. Big fucking whoop.”

“You say ‘fuck’ too much.”

“So do you.”

She frowns, glancing over her shoulder at Monty. “But actually,” she mutters. “Are you _okay_?”

“Well I’m still sober, if that tells you anything,” Miller responds.

Raven doesn’t look like she likes this answer but Monty returns then with a red plastic cup in his hand. He passes it in Miller’s direction who accepts it without even asking what’s in it before taking a huge gulp. It burns on the way down. Perfect. Monty’s eyes widen slightly at the sight and Miller pretends not to notice. Raven lets out a short breath, shaking her head ever so slightly.

“Well, okay,” Monty says. “That’s got a lot of vodka in it.”

“Listen,” Raven turns to Monty. “I know we’re not close, but I still gotta warn you: Miller’s an asshole,” she says. “You know that, yeah?”

“I’m aware, yes.”

“Alright.” Raven takes another drink from her own cup. “I’m texting Mom,” she says to Miller.

“You fucked him,” Miller reminds her, referring to Bellamy. “You’re calling someone you fucked, _Mom_.”

“You made out with him that one time and you still call him Mom,” she counters.

“Fucking and making out are two very different concepts, Reyes.”

“Well, I’m thrilled to hear about the differences,” Monty says brightly, looping his arm through Miller’s and dragging him out of the kitchen. Miller sputters at Monty’s words, trying to figure out the right thing to say in response to _that_ but falling flat. “Not tonight, of course,” Monty adds once they make it to the couch. “Because we’re here as friends.” He taps Miller on the head with that annoyingly Cute smile of his. “I remembered.”

Something sharp and dangerous pricks in Miller’s chest, and it takes him a moment to place the feeling-- junior year of high school, when he realized that he had a stupid fat crush on Bryan. And he’s feeling it again, now, with Monty Green.

He takes a sip of his drink, wincing as it goes down. Maybe if he drinks enough the feeling will go away, but Miller knows it’s a blatant lie.

He keeps drinking anyway.

* * *

Miller’s drunk. He’s so fucking _drunk_. (Confession: It doesn’t take much to get Miller drunk, especially if there’s hard alcohol involved. He can hold his own pretty well when it comes to beer, but it doesn’t matter what it is-- vodka, gin, rum, tequila-- any hard alcohol will get him well and truly _fucked._ ) He doesn’t even know how it happened. One minute he was on the couch next to Monty, ignoring the concerned glances Raven was shooting from across the room, and the next the world was spinning around him.

He’s just come out of the bathroom in one of the rooms upstairs and finds himself in a long, dark hallway. He can feel the vibrations of the music echo throughout the house, but he can’t tell what the song is and frankly he doesn’t care. Suddenly he’s fumbling with his phone, opening up WhatsApp, about to text Bryan. He’s been holding back all night (all month, really--he hasn’t contacted Bryan _once_ , which he’s proud of), but now that he’s alone, standing by himself, the full force of Bryan ending things hits him.

Bellamy’s made sure Miller hasn’t gotten drunk _specifically_ to avoid situations like this, but at least if he was drunk with his friends it wouldn’t be as bad, it wouldn’t be as heavy. Everything he’s wanted to say to Bryan for weeks is swarming his mind, pushing through the drunk sludge that make up his thoughts.

_I love you_

_I miss you_

_Why’d you do this to me?_

_Why did you leave me?_

_Did you ever really love me at all?_

They’re all there, at the tips of his fingers, but he accidentally closes out of the app when he hears a voice next to him.

“Hey.”

Miller turns his head, slowly.

Monty’s next to him, leaning against the wall, a slow, sleepy smile curling across his elfin face.

“Hey,” Miller slurs. “What’s up?”

Monty laughs. “I could ask you the same thing,” he says quietly. “Whatcha doing here all by yourself?”

Miller snorts. “Haven’t you noticed? That’s kinda my MO.”

“Nah,” Monty says, reaching over and closing his long fingers over Miller’s wrist, the one holding the phone. Miller slips it into his pocket, forgotten. “You think you’re some lone wolf, but you’re not. You’re like… you’re a regular wolf.”

Miller can’t help himself; he grins. “A regular wolf?”

“You know,” Monty says, sighing dramatically, exasperated that Miller’s not Getting It. “Wolves like, live in packs. In families.”

“And I’m like one of those wolves,” Miller says flatly.

Monty rolls his eyes. “Duh,” he says. “Or is Raven Reyes a figment of my imagination? And some guy you two call _Mom_?”  

“Huh,” Miller says, because maybe Monty has a point. Like, Miller knows he has friends, obviously, he’s not saying all those assholes aren’t his friends, but for the first time he realizes just how _much_ they care about him. They’re not being overbearing just to be assholes; they’re being overbearing assholes because they love him. The thought makes him a little more emotional than he’d like to be, and to distract himself he looks at Monty. Miller blinks. “I like your shirt,” he blurts out, and then promptly shuts his mouth so hard his teeth click together. This is why he doesn’t indulge in hard alcohol.

Monty smiles. “Oh, yeah?” he asks. “Why’s that?”

 _Because it’s a fucking v-neck and I can see your collarbones_ , Miller wants to say. And he has the strangest urge to press his lips to the hollow of Monty’s throat, right in between them. And from that maybe travel left, across his collarbone. Or maybe up, across his jaw.

“You can’t _do_ that,” Monty says, suddenly and vehemently.

Miller forces himself to pull his eyes from Monty’s throat. “Do what?” he asks.

“Lick your lips like that,” Monty points out. Miller didn’t even realize he did it, and he has the strongest urge to do it again. “ _Nope_. Especially not if we’re here as friends.”

“Right,” Miller says hoarsely. “Just friends.” They’re saying what they should be saying, but their bodies just aren’t listening. “If that’s the case, then,” Miller says lowly, “you shouldn’t be holding onto my hand like that.” Monty’s fingers, originally lightly enclosed around Miller’s wrist, are now entangled with Miller’s own fingers. Monty’s thumb is caressing the tender inside of Miller’s wrist, and Miller hopes that he can’t feel how quickly his pulse is beating.

“I guess I shouldn’t,” Monty says, but he doesn’t move his hand away.

Miller looks at him squarely; Monty’s pupils are blown wide, and his face is flushed (and no, it isn’t from the alcohol, considering Monty was his normal pale self not five minutes before--). His hair, thick and shaggy and glossy, is slightly disheveled, and Miller fleetingly remembers Monty’s friend Jasper ruffling it when the two had won beer pong, Monty giving a triumphant _Whoop!_ at the victory.

 _God_ , he’s cute, and not just because of his silky hair and bright smile and delectable looking collarbones and calves. Miller admires him, honestly--Monty’s so unafraid to be completely, exactly himself, and there’s something really fucking sexy about that. He’s unassuming and kind, trying to be nice to an asshole like him week after week, despite minimal to no encouragement.  And Jesus, what kind of magician is this guy, to get under Miller’s skin so thoroughly, so without him knowing, that it’s only in this moment that Miller realizes how much he actually fucking _likes_ him.

It’s that staggering thought that drives Miller to pull Monty closer, using his other hand to cup the back of his head and crush Monty’s lips to his.

Monty responds immediately, releasing Miller’s hand to frame his face, long fingers cool and welcome on Miller’s flushed cheeks.They’re the perfect height, Monty only a few inches shorter, and when Miller uses his free hand to wrap around Monty’s waist to pull him closer their hips line up perfectly.

Monty moans at the contact, and Miller takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss from a mere press of the lips to something wet and dirty.

They settle into each other seamlessly, hands gliding and caressing, Monty doing something fucking _wonderful_ with his tongue, and Miller feels like, despite his oral fixation on Monty’s throat, he could do just this all night. He had forgotten how fun just making out is; hell, he had forgotten--

“ _Miller_?”

Miller wrenches himself away from Monty as fast as he can, despite the whine of protest on Monty’s part, turning his head to find one of the last people he wants to see standing in the hallway. Bellamy Blake looks more than disappointed, more than worried. Miller can feel Monty’s warm breath fanning across his throat, but soon he turns his head to look at Bellamy, too.

It takes Miller a minute to figure out how to respond, his thoughts still on Monty’s wet mouth and his tongue and his _hands_ and-- “Mom,” Miller finally rasps.

“Mom,” Monty repeats, a hint of relief in his voice. He turns then, his mouth curved into a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about _you_.”

“That’s interesting,” Bellamy murmurs, his eyes narrowed on Miller. “Because I haven’t heard anything about you.” Miller knows the comment was meant to sting _him_ , not Monty, but still Miller moves in a way to shield Monty with his body. If Monty seems to notice or is even offended by Bellamy’s comment it doesn’t show whatsoever. “C’mon, I’m driving you home.”

Miller’s eyebrows come together. “Why?” he snaps.

“Because you’re drunk. Let’s _go_.”

Miller wedges himself between Monty and Bellamy even more. “Oh, screw you,” Miller mutters. “Like you’ve got any fucking idea--”

“ _Miller_ ,” Bellamy warns. “Not here.” Miller’s chest is full of knots. His fingers twitch, desperately wanting to return to Monty. To recapture that feeling he had just moments ago, that all encompassing warmth that reminded him what it feels like to be _alive_. To feel wanted, to feel _right_. “C’mon,” Bellamy says another time, his voice much sadder than before. He shoots Monty a look. “Sorry, kid,” he says before dragging Miller down the hallway without another word.

Miller doesn’t even glance over his shoulder as Bellamy pulls him away.

* * *

**Four.**

“Personally,” Murphy says from the backseat where he’s squished between Octavia and Raven, trying to break the awkward silence, “I’m just offended that I wasn’t _invited_.”

“Fuck off, Murphy,” Raven mutters. “No one wanted you to piss on the sofa.”

“Screw you,” Murphy tosses back, then pauses. “Actually, I think I’ll pass: I mean, it looked like that Wells guy was trying to, anyway.”

Since he’s the drunkest, Miller’s riding shotgun and Bellamy’s silently fuming as he drives. His eyes flicker over to Miller every few seconds but Miller doesn’t dare look back. He’s hunched over on the door, glancing out the window, trying not to puke. Murphy and Raven are still going at it in the backseat and Octavia is less than thrilled to have been carted on this adventure.

“Are you even going to explain yourself?” Bellamy murmurs, quiet enough that only Miller can hear.

“I don’t _have_ to explain myself,” Miller nearly hisses. He turns slightly so Bellamy’s in his line of sight before continuing. “You had no right to come in and--”

“And stop you from getting hurt?” Bellamy challenges. “It’s barely been three weeks. You were with him for three years. God fucking forbid I step in.”

“Just because you act like you’re in charge of all of us,” Miller says, “doesn’t mean you really are.”

“Or stop you from hurting someone else,” Bellamy carries on tightly. “Who the hell was that kid, anyway? Because the way he was looking at you--just, _fuck_ , Miller.” Bellamy shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “What has gotten _into_ you?” And then he says it clear as day, “I’m _worried_ about you.” Their friends in the back even stop their petty argument. “You got hurt and I understand that but you won’t--you don’t _talk_ to us.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Miller grits out, very aware of the heavy silence in the car.

“Bullshit,” Raven murmurs from the back. Miller’s clenching his teeth so hard it feels like they’re starting to come loose. “We care about you, you emotionally-scarred idiot.” And then, “We’re _all_ emotionally-scarred. It’s like, what we do.”

“Speak for yourself,” Murphy murmurs. “I’m the most emotionally stable out of all of you assholes.”

Octavia snorts, “Sure, you are.”

“And it _sucks_ ,” Bellamy adds, ignoring Murphy completely. “But we’re here for you. We just--we’re here for you. You know?” Miller looks at Bellamy for a long time before sighing and returning to looking out the window. His entire body feels sticky. He scrubs his hand over his face and shakes his head, sending his thoughts toppling in every direction.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

* * *

Miller skips Rocks for Jocks the entire next week.

* * *

Bellamy slides into the seat across from Miller. The dining hall below their dorm stops serving food at nine, but the actual dining area stays open until one a.m. and, with a multitude of outlets and comfy seats, is the perfect place to study, and Miller’s sick of hiding out in his dorm room.

Miller doesn’t look up from the English essay he’s outlining, and Bellamy sighs quietly. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Miller says, voice carefully devoid of any emotion. He looks up, because he doesn’t want to come across as petulant.

“I, uh,” Bellamy rubs the back of his neck uneasily, “how are you?” They haven’t spoken in a few days. If Bellamy texts, Miller responds, but everyone, surprisingly, has given him a wide berth-- it’s a relief, but also, to Miller’s surprise, kind of lonely.

“Fine,” Miller says. “A lot of homework. Busy. You?”

“Same,” Bellamy says. “Listen, Miller--”

Miller sighs. “Bellamy--”

And then, nearly in unison, “I’m sorry.”

Miller blinks. “What the hell are _you_ sorry for?” he demands. “I’m the one who’s been acting like an asshole for the past month.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees, “But I’ve been overbearing and overprotective. You-- I can’t blame you for going to that party without us, without me. I went overboard trying to keep you together, and, well, you broke up with your long time boyfriend. Sometimes you’ve gotta go a little crazy.”

Miller raises an eyebrow. “What brought on this change of heart?” he asks.

Bellamy scowls. “One of Raven’s friends may have chewed me out about it,” he says. “While she was interrogating me about your intentions towards, uh, her friend. Monty.”

Miller swallows and looks away. Monty. He doesn’t have his number, so he couldn’t text him, but he also could’ve just gone to fucking Rocks for Jocks and seen him. But he doesn’t know what to say.

Bellamy wilts a little. “Miller…” he says.

“I, uh, I really like him,” Miller says, his voice hitching. “Monty, I mean. More than I should, considering, uh, considering Bryan. That’s why I kissed him. I like him, but I know it’s too soon. I _know_ that.” He looks at Bellamy, who looks the way Miller feels--heartbroken. And Miller remembers, suddenly, what he thought before he kissed Monty, how fucking grateful he was for friends like Bellamy and Raven and even fucking _Murphy._ “Thanks for pulling me away from him,” he says, changing topics abruptly. “Thanks for looking out for me. It’s--yeah, it was too much, but you meant well. You’re a good friend, Bellamy.”

Bellamy swallows and looks down at his hands. Miller doesn’t think he gets told that much, but he should because he really _is_ his best friend. He doesn’t think he would’ve been in this great of shape without Bellamy--and he _knows_ that he’s doing so much better than he was a few weeks ago.

They sit in silence for a moment, both too emotional to speak, until Bellamy clears his throat. “Have you talked to him?” he asks. “Monty, I mean.”

“No,” Miller sighs. “I don’t know what to say.”

“He didn’t know about Bryan,” Bellamy says. “I, uh, when Raven and Monty’s friend--Clarke--was like, cornering me and demanding I tell her all about you, it slipped out. She didn’t know, so I assume Monty didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Miller winces, but it’s for the best. “God, he must think I’m such a dick.”

“Maybe,” Bellamy says, “but you should talk to him. If you really like him, you should talk to him--but also because you’re an asshole, but you’re not _that_ kind of asshole.”

“Yeah,” Miller agrees. “I, uh, have Geology tomorrow.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. “And you’re actually going to go?”

Miller nods, before realizing what Bellamy said. “Fuck you,” he says. “Jesus, I _knew_ you not bugging me every second was too good to be true!”

“There’s a reason why I’m called Mom,” Bellamy says proudly, relieved that Miller’s not angry at his subterfuge (as Miller’s best friend, Bellamy can differentiate all of the different tones and ways in which Miller says “Fuck you.”). “I know _everything_.”

“How do you get laid so regularly?” Miller asks in disgust.

“It’s a gift,” Bellamy says airily, and the two are smirking like idiots at each other.

The thing is--it still hurts. Getting up in the morning, looking at the bare walls where posters that Bryan had given him used to be; checking his phone for texts that won’t come; staring at a screensaver that’s some generic black-and-white photo instead of Bryan’s face--it all hurts. It’ll keep hurting for a long time, but for the first time since Bryan broke up with him, Miller finally believes that it’ll get better. It won’t always be like this. He has people around him who will make sure of it.

* * *

**Five.**

Monty slips into class just before Professor Pike manages to shut the door on late students. He hurries to his seat in the back of the lecture hall and Miller tries to pull his gaze from him and fails. He makes a quick apology face at Pike before making his way through the room. When his eyes fall on Miller sitting in his usual seat Monty’s face falls flat. He looks to the ground at once.

Finally he settles in the seat beside Miller but he’s much more tense than any other time Miller can even remember. Monty keeps to the far side of him, making sure not to accidentally brush him as he pulls out his books as though he’s going to actually take notes today.

Miller takes a deep breath. “Monty,” he murmurs. Monty sets his notebook out on his small desk and pulls out a pen. “ _Monty_ ,” Miller tries again.

“I don’t like being used,” Monty says shortly.

Miller swallows a groan. “Can I _explain_?”

Monty dates his paper in the top right corner. “Your boyfriend dumped you,” Monty says. “And then you made out with me. What else is there?”

Miller clenches his teeth together. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it?” Monty asks, turning his head in Miller’s direction. “Because it doesn’t feel like it is.” They hold each other’s gaze for a moment before Monty looks down at his notebook again, shaking his head slightly. “I really want it to be more complicated than that,” Monty admits softly.

“It is,” Miller says again. He hesitates. “What are you doing after this, do you have class?”

Monty’s lips pucker slightly. “I’m getting lunch with Clarke... But I can cancel.”

Miller feels his stomach lurch, not in fear but in hope. “Are you sure?” he asks lightly. “I wouldn’t want to get on Clarke’s bad side. My uh, my friend Bellamy-- _Mom_ \--would know about that.”

Monty smirks. “You’re already on her bad side,” he says. “But she’ll understand since you’re trying to crawl your way out of it.”

Miller raises an eyebrow. “Her bad side a giant black hole, then?”

“Worse. Like a pit with spikes sticking out of the bottom,” Monty says.

“So… basically the sarlacc pit,” Miller says slowly.

Monty groans, and Miller’s body jerks a bit. It reminds him of That Night. “You just dropped a _Star Wars_ reference,” Monty says in explanation. “Perfectly. In casual conversation. Are you _kidding_ me? Where did you even _come from_ , Nathan Miller?”

Miller grins.

“Stop that!” Monty says, pointing a pencil at him threateningly. “You’re not back in my good graces yet! You still need to come up with a hell of an explanation as to why you made out with me, left me at a party, and then avoided me for a week.”

Miller’s grin falls. “Right,” he says. His eyes dart to Pike, droning on in the front, and then he looks behind him. There are doors in the front of the auditorium and the back, and well… they’re in the back row. “Do you wanna just go get lunch now? I don’t know about you, but I’m sure as hell not going to concentrate in this class.”

Monty snorts. “Welcome to my life,” he says. “But sure, why the hell not.”

* * *

They settle into a booth in the corner of a cafeteria, and Miller, in his usual simple, straightforward way, tells Monty about Bryan-- about how they were friends, how they both realized they wanted more. He tells Monty about how they came out to their parents and friends together, how they went to prom and college visits together, how they had planned out--if not a life, then at least their undergrad--together. Haltingly, he tells Monty about Rome and how, even though Miller couldn’t go, he insisted that Bryan still leave, because--well, because that’s what you did for people you loved. You let them go, even when it hurt you. And then, not looking at Monty, he tells him how Bryan dumped him for someone else.

He doesn’t tell him about the hurt, the anger, the grief he’s been carrying around inside of him like a ticking time bomb. He doesn’t tell him about the sleepless nights, the unhealthy habits, the way he looks at the future like it’s a dark tunnel, stretched out ahead of him, instead of something bright and beautiful.

But Monty doesn’t need Miller to tell him all of that; it’s written across his wan, tense face. It was there in Raven’s concern and Bellamy’s anger and in that dog-eared copy of _Medea_. So when Miller’s done, they sit in silence for a while, Miller waiting patiently, almost anxiously, for what Monty will say. He can’t even bear to look at Monty, so he fiddles with his napkin, which he now realizes he’d been slowly, methodically shredding into tiny pieces as he told Monty everything.

“Well, _shit,_ ” Monty says softly.

Miller looks up.

Despite his tone, it’s clear, from every line of his body, from his clamped jaw and thinned mouth, to his stiff shoulders and clenched hands, that Monty Green is furious.

Miller swallows. “Monty--” he says.

“What an--what a _dick,_ ” Monty fumes. Monty looks him in the eye. “Nate, what Bryan did to you was--it was _cruel_. It was cruel and selfish and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry he did that to you.”

Miller feels his throat close up and he shakes his head. “No,” Miller insists. “I mean, thank you, but Monty… that still doesn’t forgive what I did to you.”

Monty bites his lip. “No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t. But… thank you for explaining everything to me. I know it must’ve been hard for you to do that, and I appreciate it.”

Miller nods.

“I just…” Monty looks away, and vulnerability, the _insecurity_ there that Miller’s never seen before makes his heart ache. “If anyone else had found you in that hallway at the party, would you... would you have..?”

Miller understands what Monty’s trying to say. “No,” he says vehemently, and, without thinking, reaches over to grab Monty’s hands. “No, Monty. If it were anyone else… I didn’t kiss you because you were just a boy who was there. I kissed you because you were _you_.”

Monty laughs, but it comes out too breathy and broken to convince Miller he’s okay. “Now I know what you mean about it being complicated.”

Miller squeezes Monty’s hands. “Yeah, right?” he says. “Listen, Monty. I like you-- a lot. More than I expected. More than… more than I should, really.”

Monty furrows his brow. “More than you should?” he asks.

Miller scowls. “Yeah,” he says harshly. “Bellamy was right. It’s barely been a month since Bryan and I broke up and I already--I mean, it makes me no better than him, right?”

Monty’s quiet for a moment, thinking it over. “I don’t want to, like, invalidate your feelings,” he says hesitantly, “but. Are you sure you like me?”

Miller is unsure about a lot of things, but this isn’t one of them. For all of his faults he’s always known his own mind--and his heart. “Yeah,” he says firmly. Monty, for all he is, has infiltrated his mind completely. His soft smiles, his unrelenting kindness--there’s more to it than trying to get over Bryan. Monty’s been a light ever since Miller met him. “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Monty says, and Miller doesn’t have words for the relief he feels in Monty’s complete and utter trust in what Miller says. “Well, then, I don’t know what to say. I mean, the heart wants what it wants. You don’t--you’re not Bryan, Nate. If Bryan was still your boyfriend, you wouldn’t have looked twice at me.”

Miller flushes a little. “I always did think you were cute,” he mutters, and Monty’s answering grin, bright and happy, makes the confession worth it. “But you’re right,” he says. “I wouldn’t have made a move or thought of you like that.”

Despite the implications, Monty nods, satisfied. “See?” he says. “Not like him.” He pauses. “I really like you, too,” he says. “More than I expected. You were just, like, this super hot guy in my Geology class. But--you’re also a super hot guy with a great smile who’s always reading paperbacks, yet still paying enough attention to lecture to make snarky remarks about Pike under your breath. And you think you’re some asshole, and yeah, okay, you are, but you also hold the door open for like, everyone, coming into lecture and you have friends--great friends--who would do anything for you, like crash a party to make sure you’re okay. You’re a good guy, Nathan Miller.”

“Thanks,” Miller says quietly, touched. “You’re a good guy, too, Monty. But--you deserve so much better than me, and what I can give you right now.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Monty says ruefully. “But… maybe we can still be friends?”

“I’d like that.” Miller licks his lips. “And… I’m not asking you to wait for me or anything, but maybe, later, when the time is right, we can--we can give this a real shot.”

A slow smile spreads across Monty’s face. “I wasn’t going to say it,” Monty confesses, “I didn’t want to push. But I was hoping you’d suggest it.”

Miller grins. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

“As long as I can keep flirting with you in class,” Monty says with that saucy wink that Miller loves.

“Yeah,” Miller says, feeling warm and happy, “you’d better.”

* * *

**Six.**

_Nine Months Later_

**_From Bryan - 4:34 PM_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Hey… I know this seems really out of the blue, but I’m back. And I’d really like to see you. I think we should talk. In person. If you don’t want to I understand, but please consider it. I miss you, Nathan. I don’t feel right about how things ended between us. Just let me know? I’m free Thursday for lunch if you are._ **

Miller reads the message once, and then twice, and then three times before he finally lowers his phone. He reads it in Bryan’s voice, happy and soft, familiar and genuine. Miller’s eyebrows come together as he thinks about it.

Finally Monty catches Miller’s wrist, turning his hand gently. “You okay?” Monty asks. Miller looks down at his boyfriend, stretched out across Miller’s lap, his eyes concerned. “I was getting an _amazing_ head massage,” Monty says. “And then you stopped. For like five minutes.”

“Sorry,” Miller murmurs. He threads his fingers back through Monty’s thick hair, his mouth curving into a smile as Monty’s eyes drift shut again. “Just thinking.”

 _Fuck._ He knew Bryan was back, he guessed-- it was September, everyone coming back from summer break. Bryan had stayed in Europe after his session was over, traveling around more, so Miller didn’t have to worry about seeing him at home, which was nice. Not that he really cared much; he was preoccupied with his friends and with Monty.

It had taken basically the duration of the semester, and even a bit into summer, but slowly, Miller fell more and more out of love with Bryan, and more in love with Monty. It had scared the hell out of him because he didn’t want Monty to be a rebound. Monty deserved better than Miller’s cracked heart, but at some point, he didn’t know what he was waiting for. He felt ready to get back into a relationship again.

Monty was patient, telling him he could wait longer, that they could go as slowly as he wanted, but Miller realized that while he really did love Bryan, and part of him always would, Bryan had the right of it all those months ago after all: they had been drifting apart. They loved each other but they weren’t in love anymore, and that’s why it was so easy for Bryan to fall for someone else, for Miller to become so quickly attracted to Monty. They were clinging to something familiar and safe rather than something real.

Miller looks down at Monty, smiling. This is real; what he has with Monty is real.

“What are you thinking about?” Monty asks, smiling as though he _knows_ that Miller is smiling, too, despite the fact his eyes are closed.

“Bryan texted me.”

Monty’s eyes fly open. “Um.”

“He wants to get lunch,” Miller adds, shaking his head slightly.

“ _Um_.” He twists in Miller’s grasp slightly. “He’s… back?” And then under his breath, “Well, that’s unfortunate.” Miller tips Monty’s head slightly so he’s looking up at him. “I know it was just a semester-long program but that didn’t stop me from hoping he’d never return.” A smile finds Miller’s face again and he brushes his thumb across Monty’s chin. “What’d you say?” Monty asks.

“I haven’t responded,” Miller tells him.

Monty looks happy with this answer and his eyes fall shut again. Miller continues working his fingers through Monty’s hair with one of his hands when he lifts his phone again, opening the message and reading it a fourth time.

When Miller’s fingers start moving over the keys, formulating a response, Monty’s eyes snap open again. “So I can hear those clicks,” Monty says, clearly trying to keep his chill. Miller’s mouth curves into a smile as he looks down at him again. “You’re… responding? To him?”

“Is that _okay_?”

“I mean--” Monty sits up and Miller pulls his hand from his hair. “Yeah, of course, Nate.” Monty leans toward him, his hand coming up to cup Miller’s cheek. “I trust you to make your own decisions. Doesn’t mean I like the asshole, but…” Miller smiles then, leaning into Monty’s grasp. “Of _course_ I trust you.”

Miller twists his head and the angle is perfect for him to press a kiss to Monty’s wrist. “I think I’m going to go,” he murmurs. Monty’s eyes widen slightly, but still he nods his head. “I need that part of my life to be over. You know?”

“Sure.”

Monty drags Miller toward him then, kissing him firmly as though to remind him where he is now. Who he has now. Miller can’t help himself from grinning, setting down his phone before reaching up to thread his fingers through Monty’s hair another time. The angle is awkward so Monty breaks away for a moment before climbing onto Miller’s lap with his legs hitched around his hips. When Monty rocks forward Miller groans. Any thought of finishing the text he’d started is completely gone from his mind.

“Fuck,” Miller exhales when Monty’s hands slip under his shirt. “You’re distracting me on purpose,” Miller murmurs as Monty’s hands span across his chest, trace up his back.

“Is it working?” Monty murmurs back. Miller gives up waiting for Monty to take Miller’s shirt off and does it himself, grabbing the hem and wrenching it over his head before tossing it to the side. “I’m going with yes,” Monty says with a grin.

“You’re such a dick,” Miller says, but he’s laughing.

“I’m not a dick,” Monty insists, kissing Miller on the jaw. “I just have one.” He grinds down and Miller’s breath catches in his throat. “And you _like_ it.”

“Shut the hell up, Green.”

“Make me,” Monty says, and to both of their delights, Miller does.

* * *

**Seven.**

“So… let me get this straight,” says Jasper, his fingers tapping on the top of his beer can. _Tap, tap, tap._ “Miller’s super hot ex-boyfriend is back from Rome.”

“Right.” Monty is upside down on the couch, legs up, head down, tossing up a hackey sack in the air and catching it. The blood is rushing to his head.  

_Tap, tap._

“He’s probably like, super tan from the sun and like, knowledgeable on things like Ancient Roman literature and Renaissance architecture and shit that Miller’s into.”

“Correct.”

_Tap… tap._

“And he and Miller were together for like, _ages_.”

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

Monty sits up from the couch and grabs the empty can from Jasper’s hands, and then promptly flops back down on the couch. The sudden movement was _not_ a good idea. “Yeah. What’s your point?”

“You’re not worried _at all_?”

“Of course I’m worried!” Monty exclaims. “But I couldn’t let him _know_ that! Otherwise he would’ve thought that I don’t trust him, and I _do_.”

Jasper licks his lips. “So what are you going to do?”

Monty flings an arm over his face and groans. “I don’t know. What do you think?” Silence. Monty looks up; Jasper’s on his phone. “Thanks for the concern,” Monty says sarcastically.

“I’m assembling The Fam,” Jasper says distractedly.

“ _The Fam_?”

“You know, it’s like, our group’s superhero name. Like, The Avengers or Thunder Cats or the Justice League. But like, The Fam. Part ABC Family, part The Godfather, led by none other than Mom and Dad.”

“You’re texting Bellamy and Clarke?” Monty cries. “Jasper, I can take care of this on my own!”

“I’m not just texting Bellamy and Clarke,” Jasper says, offended. “I’m texting Raven and Murphy and Octavia, too! They’re The Godfather part of The Fam.”

Monty wrinkles his nose. “Wait, does that make us the ABC Family part?”

“Oh, yeah, us, Maya, Wells, Lincoln, and Bellamy,” Jasper says. “Your BF and Clarke are totally The Godfather part.”

“Well, she  _is_ Dad,” Monty remarks absently. “But, wait--stop distracting me! Jasper, it’s fine. _I’m_ fine.”

“No, you’re not, you’re a wreck,” Jasper says matter-of-factly. “You’re like, Bellamy when he even _thinks_ about asking out Clarke. And as your best friend-slash-soul mate, I need to take care of you.” Monty is offended; _no one_ is as bad as Bellamy Blake when it comes to concealing and not feeling feelings.

Not five minutes later there’s a knock at their door, and Jasper opens it. It’s Raven, oil on her clothing, and her welding mask is still on, although it’s up and away from her face at least. “So,” she says, “I hear That Fucker is back in town.”

Raven, Octavia, and Murphy exclusively call Bryan That Fucker. Bellamy tacitly disapproves but _doesn’t_ disagree. Monty knows that what Bryan did to Miller hurt them all, that they were Bryan’s friends, too, but what he did was unforgivable. They don’t consider Bryan to be their friend anymore.

Clarke sometimes calls him The Fucker, too, although more hesitantly, as someone who’s more outside of the situation. Jasper does it, even if Wells and Maya don’t, and Monty refuses to. Over the past six months the two friend groups have merged seamlessly, and maybe Jasper’s onto something when he calls them The Fam.

“Did you come straight from…” Monty makes a hand motion indicating her grease-stained overalls and welding gear. “Wherever the hell you were?”

“Yeah,” Raven says, pushing her way in. “This shit is important.”

“Don’t get grease on the couch again,” Jasper says, throwing her an old towel to sit on.

“Great,” Raven says with a grin. “Glad you’re prepared this time.” She turns to Monty. “So The Fucker is back. Has he made contact?”

“Yeah,” Monty says, knowing that it’s useless to try and withhold information from her--from any of them--at this point. _Sorry, Nate._ “He’s already texted Nate. He wants to get lunch.”

“ _What_?” Raven’s voice is deathly low.

It gets worse; there’s a knock at the door and both Bellamy and Clarke push into the room.

“Who do we need to beat up?” Clarke asks, without preamble. “Is it The Ex?”

“That Fucker!” Octavia shouts, barging in behind them, brandishing her phone in the air like a weapon. Monty sighs. He guesses that Lincoln, her grad school boyfriend, is TA’ing tonight, otherwise he would’ve come, too. Damn. Monty had been counting on his calm, steady presence to reign everyone in a little. And he refuses to bring poor Wells and Maya into this. “How _dare_ he?”

“Is Miller okay?” Bellamy addresses Monty.

Murphy slinks into the room. “Listen, I’m not as good as Miller, but I _do_ know my way around a lock,” Murphy says. He turns to Raven. “Your friend Gina’s an RA, right? Can she tell us which dorm Bryan’s assigned to?”

“I like the way you think,” Raven smirks.

Monty groans and bites the bullet. “Everyone shut up!” They all stop and look at him, wide-eyed. Monty sighs. “Bryan texted Nate. He wants to get lunch. Nate’s gonna go. Says he needs closure.” Everyone is looking at him with wide eyes. “It’s… it’s _fine_ ,” Monty says. “Stop looking at me like that. I trust him, and he probably does need closure.”

“That Fucker _did_ break up with him over Skype,” Raven mutters.

“Nobody say a word to Nate about this,” Monty says sternly, whipping around, pointing a finger at Bellamy. “He’d be pissed that I even told you. Especially _you_ , Mom!”

Clarke snickers.

Monty glares at her. “Don’t think you’re not included in this, too, _Dad._ ”

Once they had stopped arguing and disliking each other after their first initial fiery encounter, Clarke and Bellamy got on a like a house on fire… sometimes a little too much. Even if she isn’t older than them like Bellamy, Clarke also has the annoying tendency of being bossy and overprotective. She also has a tendency for the worst corny jokes, which was what originally earned her the nickname “Dad” in the first place. Monty doesn’t think she minds it nearly as much as she acts like she does.

Clarke pouts as Bellamy smirks at her. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” she insists.

“No, you would’ve just arranged the personalized study table you made him to be so full that he would never have time for lunch,” Monty says.

“Miller would have had time for lunch!” Clarke protests. “I would just find out _Bryan’s_ schedule and make sure their lunches would never _match up_.”

“God, I adore you,” Bellamy says without thinking, and then promptly becomes so red he resembles a cherry tomato.

Octavia cackles.

“Enough!” Monty says, exasperated. The dorm room is small and there are a lot of people in there. He’s annoyed, overheated, and so _worried_ about his boyfriend. That’s the thing; he’s not jealous, really, or paranoid. He’s worried. Miller’s been doing so well over this school year and Monty’s afraid that seeing Bryan again will make him relapse, or something.

Jasper can see the misery on his face, and he puts his hand on Monty’s shoulder, looking apologetic. “How can we help?” he asks.

“And don’t tell us ‘nothing,’” Raven says. “You should know that it’s better to include us because if not, we’re just gonna go behind your back and make up a way worse plan.”

Bellamy looks offended. “My plans aren’t worse.”

“Tell that to your track record,” Octavia says, but she also pats him on the arm reassuringly. “They’re not _all_ bad. They’re just usually terrible.”

“My plans would be great,” Clarke offers.

“That depends entirely on who you’re dating,” Jasper rolls his eyes.

“Hey!” Clarke protests.

“Guys, we’re getting off-topic again,” Monty says, figuring that, metaphorically speaking, the bullet’s already in and he just needs to control the bleeding. “This is what we’re going to do: we’re going to let Miller go to lunch with Bryan.”

“WHAT!”

“Are you crazy?”

“What the hell’s wrong with my idea to break into his dorm?”

“For one thing,” Monty says dryly, “this will be legal and only minimally creepy.”

“We’re going to spy on them,” Jasper starts hopping up and down. “ _Tell me we’re going to spy on them_!”

“Yeah,” Monty sighs, resigned. “We’re going to spy on them and be back-up just in case he needs it. But only _just in case_ , okay? We need to be subtle. Nate can’t know we’re there--and we’re only going to interfere if he needs it, and we are going to discuss if he needs us before making ourselves known.” He waits until everyone is looking at him and he looks steadily back. “Do we have an understanding?”

Everyone is silent.

“Do we. Have. An understanding?” Monty says. This is very important to him, and he needs to make sure they all get that.

“Yes, Monty,” they all say in unison, except for Murphy, who gives him a cocky salute and says, “Aye-aye, Cap’n,” which is the best he’s going to get, quite frankly.

“Okay,” Monty takes a deep breath. _Forgive me, Nathan, for I am about to sin_ … “According to Nate, here’s the when and where they’re meeting…”

* * *

**Eight.**

Monty looks at his watch. T-15 Minutes Until Lunch. His stomach is in knots, and it’s not (just) because of the meat loaf he just ate.

“Don’t worry, Green, everything’ll turn out,” comes a voice above him. Monty looks up.

“Is that necessary?” Monty asks Raven sternly, eyeing the large metal box she’s carrying. “I thought I told you we were going for _subtlety_.”

“Bryan’s going to recognize me regardless,” Raven explains, sliding into the large booth Monty saved them. It’s perfect: in the corner, circular, can fit the most people, and has a perfect view of every table in the dining area. “Plus, I could’ve brought my welding mask. And this is my smallest toolbox.”

Monty rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. What’s even the point.

“Hey, scootch over,” Jasper says to Raven. His old beloved goggles, which he stopped wearing once he started getting laid regularly, are on his head, and he pulls them down over his face. “What do you think?” he asks Raven. “Intimidating enough?”

Raven shakes her head. “Oh, Jordan,” she says. “You never fail to amuse me.”

“What?” Jasper says. “I’m going to do _this_ to him.” He points two fingers at his own eyes, hidden under the thick goggles, and then points one finger menacingly away from him. “Huh? Huhhhh?”

“Don’t worry,” says Octavia, plopping her gym bag down next to the booth with a resounding thud. “I’ll make up for Jasper’s idiocy.” She opens up the bag and pulls out a pair of beat-up boxing gloves, which, okay, is pretty cool, Monty has to admit, until he sees--

“Is that a pair of _nunchucks_ tucked into your boxing gloves?” Monty gapes.

Raven smirks. “Nice _work_ , Blake,” she says, holding up her hand for a high-five, which Octavia enthusiastically returns. “I like it.”

“Honestly, I just really want to fight someone,” Octavia says breezily, sitting down. “And it never hurts to be prepared.”

“That is _definitely_ illegal,” comes a voice, and of course it’s Bellamy, face stony, arms crossed over his chest. “No weapons on campus, Octavia.”

Octavia rolls her eyes and hands him the nunchucks. They’re made out of soft, squishy material. “Lincoln won me those at the fair last fall,” she says. “They’re purely for intimidation purposes.”

Bellamy is clearly not amused, but he gives them back to her. “And the gloves?”

“Oh, no, those are all real,” Octavia says proudly. “So I won’t bruise my knuckles when I punch Bryan in his stupid face.”

Bellamy groans.

“Face it, Blake,” says Clarke, showing up in scrubs with questionable-looking stains, straight from her volunteer shift at the hospital, “you raised a hoodlum.”

“How old are you?” he mutters back as she settles into the booth. “Eighty-five?”

“Well, that would still make me three years younger than you!” she says cheerfully, pulling him down to sit next to her. Bellamy’s scowling, but Clarke presses her lips to his cheek in apology and he immediately melts like a puppy.

_T-5 Minutes._

Monty sighs. “I guess all we need now is Murphy,” he says.

“Oh, no,” Raven says airily, taking a pair of pliers out of her toolbox. “Murphy isn’t coming.”

Monty relaxes. “Oh, great,” he says.

“--Because he’s currently breaking into Bryan’s room,” Raven finishes.

“I thought you said that if I included you in the plan you wouldn’t plan a stupider one!” Monty howls.

“Yeah _, I_ said that,” Raven says. “Murphy didn’t. Murphy just does whatever the hell he wants.”

Monty groans, but there’s no time to address that now, because Miller’s walked in, food tray in hand. Everyone, despite being five times too big for it, attempts to duck down in the booth and make themselves as small as possible. By some act of God, Miller doesn’t see them, choosing a booth that’s out of hearing range but is still well within their lines of sight. He slides in, his back to his friends.

“Shit, that was close,” Jasper whispers.

Bryan comes in, then, hesitating a few feet away from Miller, who hasn’t seen him yet.

“That Fucker,” Raven breathes softly.

“Wow, he really _does_ look like a bronzed Roman god,” Jasper says.

“Not helping, Jasper,” Octavia elbows him sharply, jutting her chin out to indicate a miserable-looking Monty.

“Don’t listen to him, Monty,” Clarke says, putting an arm around him. “Guys who look like bronzed Roman gods are overrated.”

“I’m sitting _right here_ ,” says Bellamy pointedly.

Clarke sniffs. “Who said I was talking about you?”

“Please,” Monty begs, “for the love of every Roman god, save your verbal foreplay for some other time.”

They watch as Bryan sits down across from Miller, facing them, although his attention is focused solely on Monty’s boyfriend across from him.

Monty studies Bryan; he clearly still loves Miller, the look on his face soft and familiar. Hopeful. Something heavy and achy curdles in Monty’s gut.

The six of them watch in silence. Since it’s lunch time, the room fills up and there’s no way they can hear what Miller and Bryan are saying--but, given Bryan’s face, they can guess.

“I can’t believe this,” Bellamy seethes. “He actually wants to get back together with Miller!”

“You think?” Clarke asks curiously.

“He’s sure as hell not asking for forgiveness,” Bellamy gestures, and right on cue, Bryan winces.

“Rip him a new one, Nate,” Monty murmurs.

Jasper gasps, "Did you see that?" Monty feels himself tense for a moment, watching the interaction across the dining hall with his teeth clenched. Contact has been made. Contact has been made! Bryan _touched_ him. "When do we move in?" Jasper asks, shifting excitedly in his seat. "He grabbed his hand!"

"Oh, give him some credit," Octavia murmurs as she crosses her arms over her chest. "Miller's already yanked his arm away. He can take care of himself."

 _He can,_ Monty thinks. _But he doesn't have to._

Bellamy starts cracking his knuckles. Monty raises an eyebrow. “Is that really necessary?” he asks.

Bellamy smirks. “Bryan’s always had a thing for my biceps. Watch. They’ll catch his eye.”

“Oh, of all the conceited--” Clarke starts, but then Monty ducks down next to her. “What?”

 _“He’s looking_ ,” Monty whispers.

And sure enough, the motion catches Bryan’s eye. He almost starts to smile upon recognizing Bellamy but, perhaps remembering how Bellamy and all of Miller’s other friends unfriended and blocked him across all social media, stops. Bellamy’s stony glare doesn’t help, either.

Bryan’s gaze travels to Clarke, in scrubs splattered with God knows what bodily fluids on her, who is glaring at him so fiercely Bryan seems to shrink into himself further; Raven, who’s smirking at him with a pair of pliers in her hand; Jasper, who does, in fact, decide to try out his “menacing” hand motions; and Octavia, who has put the boxing gloves, which are tied together, around her neck. _Make my day,_ her expression reads.

Monty, who is on Clarke’s other side, at the end of the booth, isn’t noticed.

Bryan swallows.

All of the table’s occupants are practically vibrating with energy, like dogs right before their leashes are taken off at the park. “Guys, cool it,” Monty mutters out of the side of his mouth. “You’re blowing our cover.”

“Good,” Raven says, her eyes still fixed on Bryan, who is looking noticeably paler under that Mediterranean tan. “That means we can blow _him_ up quicker.”

“Raven!” sputters Monty. “What is _in_ that toolbox?”

“Don’t you worry about it,” she says, reaching over to pat his arm. “Aunty Raven will take care of everything.”

“We really _are_ The Fam,” Jasper whispers excitedly.

Bryan’s attention is pulled back to Miller, although everyone notices his eyes darting to their table frequently. In a moment where Bryan’s attention is back on Miller, Monty stands. “I need a soda,” he says. “This is taking forever.” He glares at them fiercely. “Don’t you _dare_ do anything without me,” he says. To Bellamy he orders, “Keep ‘em in line, Mom.”

“Yeah, right,” Octavia rolls her eyes. “And he’ll stop playing footsie under the table with Dad, too.”

Both Bellamy and Clarke turn bright red.

Monty leaves, stretches his arms and legs as he pays for a soda. He doesn’t really need the sugar, but it’s better than watching _that_. He--he’s only known Miller for nine months, and been dating him for much less than that, but Monty knows he loves him. He loves him so much that if he went back to Bryan, he would--okay, he would be _pissed,_ but that’s only because he doesn’t think that Bryan loves and appreciates Miller like Monty does. But if Miller is truly happier with Bryan than he is with Monty, of course Monty will let him go. He just doesn’t want to.

Deep in his own thoughts, Monty doesn’t notice that he’s going back to the booth the wrong way. He’s come in the dining area the same way Bryan had, facing Miller, and Monty stops in the doorway.

From the back of his head, Miller can see that Bryan is still talking, gesturing with his hands, clearly not giving up, and Miller--

Miller doesn’t look besotted or in love or happy; he doesn’t look like he’s receptive to what Bryan’s saying at all--he looks tense, jaw clenched, brows straight and expression stony. But Monty knows him and he can see beyond the anger, to the sadness underneath. Miller’s hands, in front of him on the table, might be clamped together so hard that his knuckles are white, but Monty can also tell that they’re shaking. Miller’s brow is furrowed but beneath that his dark eyes are sad and hard. Perhaps in time Miller will feel as though this meeting gave him the closure he wanted, but right now it’s just upsetting him further.

Consequences be damned--Monty’s going to blow his own cover.

Thank goodness he ended up buying this soda; it only adds to his nonchalance as he tries to oh-so casually walk by Miller and Bryan’s table, resolutely not looking Miller’s way at all. He keeps his eyes at the booth in the back, where five pairs of eyes are staring at him in awe and amazement.

 _What are you doing?_ Jasper mouths at him.

Monty shrugs and keeps walking.

He’s probably about three feet away from their table when he hears, _“Monty?”_

Cover officially blown.

* * *

**Nine.**

Seeing Bryan in person for the first time in months is overwhelming. He’s just as tan as his Instagram pictures made him out to be, just as handsome as the day he ended things over a Skype call. And there’s something in his eyes that Miller recognizes, a bright sort of hopefulness that makes Miller’s insides feel a little too warm.

“You look great,” Bryan says. Even his voice is familiar. Miller looks down at his tray and focuses his thoughts on Monty. Not that anything Bryan’s about to say can possibly make Miller change how he feels about this entire ridiculous situation, but because the thought of Monty is just so _steadying_ ; that Monty’s out there somewhere, being the giant lovable nerd that he is, maybe thinking of Miller at this stupid lunch agreement. “How’ve you been?” Bryan asks.

“Super,” Miller answers, forcing his eyes back up. “You don’t need to tell me how you’ve been,” he adds, “I’ve seen it on Facebook, thanks.”

Bryan’s face falls slightly. “Nathan,” he starts, and again the tone is so familiar that Miller has to look away. “I made a mistake,” Bryan says as he shakes his head. There’s so much sincerity in his voice that Miller almost wants to believe this. That Bryan dumping him for some Greek god was a mistake. A fluke. “I was so caught up in traveling, in _Rome_ , in--”

“Some guy’s dick?” Miller cuts him off sharply. Bryan winces. “Sure, Bryan. I doubt you thought it was a mistake when you were getting fucked.”

“ _Nathan_ ,” Bryan says with a sigh. “It’s just--it’s…” Bryan is clearly struggling for words. Miller pushes his food around with his fork, wondering why he agreed to this in the first place. Nothing Bryan could possibly say is going to change _anything_. He still ended things so he could be with someone else. Over Skype. After three years. “I miss you,” Bryan says, his voice hoarse. Miller shakes his head at once unable to come up with any words to respond. “I _miss_ you,” Bryan says again, more firmly. “And I just--I think we could, if you wanted to try again, I _want_ that.”

“ _No_ ,” Miller chokes. “No!” Bryan sinks backwards in his seat slightly. “I _have_ someone. And unlike you I _waited_ to be with him because _unlike you_ , our breakup _fucked me up_.” Miller hates admitting his, how affected he was when Bryan ended things, but if he can rub the salt into this wound then he’s going to do it. Guilt trip it is. “We were together for years and you ended it over a Skype call so you could fuck some guy from Rome. Not to mention, you don’t contact me at all the entire time you’re away. And you _miss_ me? You think you have any fucking right to _miss_ me anymore?” He scoffs, shaking his head another time. “Well, fuck you, is what I have to say.”

Bryan reaches out then, his hand covering Miller’s that’s resting on the table, and the touch is so sudden it freezes Miller in his spot. “We’ve been through so much together,” Bryan says. “We could get through this, too.”

Miller yanks his hand away. “Are you _delusional_? Because you sound pretty delusional.” The funny thing about this is that he’s serious. Bryan’s serious. He wants to start again. Because that’s how he’s always been, hopeful and optimistic, trying to find the best in the worst things, wanting to overcome the hardest obstacles. But this is too much. “I have someone,” Miller says again.

“So did I,” Bryan tries. “But it wasn’t the same, it wasn’t what I had with _you_ \--”

“No, stop. That’s because you had a _fuck-buddy_. A fuck-buddy from Rome while you were studying abroad that you had no intentions of staying with when you came back to the states as evidenced by you wanting to _fix things_ . Of course it’s not the same.” Miller rocks backwards in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “I have a _boyfriend_. Who I care a lot about. And who I’d rather be with right now than be here.”

Miller can see the wheels turning in Bryan’s eyes as he again tries to work a way around this. “How serious is it?” he asks. “Because I haven’t seen any pictures or anything.”

“Well, I’m not a fucking asshole,” Miller mutters, despite the fact that he totally _is_ an asshole. “I don’t need to rub it in someone’s face that I’m with someone.” He’d thought about doing that plenty of times, posting pictures of him and Monty. Or just Monty, with his tousled hair from a windy afternoon in which they got coffee. Or Monty curled up in Miller’s sheets after a night together. Or Monty with his head tipped back in a laugh at something Raven had said. But Miller wanted to keep those moments for himself. Also, fuck Instagram. He doesn’t have time for actually posting things, just stalking when need-be. “You did this,” Miller reminds him sharply. “Not me.”

“I _know_ ,” Bryan says with another sigh. “I told you I made a mistake. And I did. And I wish I could take it back but I can’t--”

“You’re right, you can’t.”

“--and I just want to move forward.”

“Then you have to do it _without me_ ,” Miller mutters.

“I just had to know,” Bryan carries on. “I had to know how it would feel to be with someone else, Nathan, you’re the only person I’ve ever _been_ with. And we--we were fighting anyway, it felt right. But now it just...” He starts using his hands as he speaks. “I don’t know, I thought if I was with someone and it was worse, or better--”

“You needed a fucking comparison?” Miller snaps.

“No, that sounds--that sounds horrible.”

“You’re right, it does! Because it is!” Bryan sighs and looks away, lifting his hand to scrub at his face. He’s clearly frustrated and that makes Miller feel good. He spent _weeks_ feeling frustrated. The silence is heavy for a moment before Miller finally speaks again. “There’s nothing you can say that’s going to get me to bend, I know you know that.”

“You always were stubborn,” Bryan murmurs. He’s quiet again. “Just… just think about all the times that we had,” Bryan says, desperation in his words as he lowers his hands from his face again. “Besides some rough patches, all of it was so _good_ , Nathan.”

“It was.” Miller agrees flatly. “And then you wrecked it.” It had been incredible. What Miller had with Bryan was everything that everyone deserves in their first relationship, with their first love. Late nights at each other’s houses, supportive loving parents who respected and trusted them, learning and exploring one another in the dark hours of the morning. Miller knew the feel of Bryan’s hands. He knew the way that Bryan kissed and where to kiss him to hear him make a sound so breathless it could get Miller off too. He knew _everything_ about him. And he loved him. Miller loved him so much that it hurt. But that was gone now, and Miller knows that. He needs Bryan to know it, too. “Stop trying to make me feel bad for the mistakes that _you_ made. For the pain that _you_ caused. We could’ve fixed what we had, the fighting and the drifting. But you chose to end it instead.”

Bryan’s quiet as the impact of Miller’s words wash over him. Miller feels the tension in his shoulders getting tighter.

“In my head…” Bryan starts softly. “I don’t know. It just felt like a break for me. But it wasn’t, was it?”

Miller shakes his head. “No, Bryan. It wasn’t just a break.” Finally something shifts in Bryan’s eyes and Miller knows this is the moment. “You broke _me_.”

Bryan seems to sink in his seat. “Nathan…” he starts, and Miller watches as Bryan tries to sort out the words. “If I’d… I wish I could--”

They’re finally getting somewhere in terms of closure, which is the whole reason Miller agreed to this in the first place, but at that exact moment someone who _should not be here_ catches his eye.

“ _Monty_?” Miller blurts, completely jarred from the conversation at the sight of his boyfriend. He looks startled when he hears his name, and then guilty, which is quickly masked by an expression of overly exaggerated confusion.

“Nate!” Monty says warmly, eyes only for his boyfriend as he swoops in and gives him a kiss on the temple. He remains standing. “Wow, I thought you were over at Mecha Hall for lunch for some reason.”

Miller raises an eyebrow. “Oh, did you?” he asks. He adores his boyfriend, but he is the _worst_ actor. His temple is warm from Monty’s lips and part of him wants to laugh. “And here I didn’t know you were going to be here at all.”

“Last minute thing!” Monty says brightly. “Just uh, meeting the gang for lunch.”

Miller’s stomach clenches. “The gang?” he says flatly.

“Uh-huh,” confirms Monty, waving to them, and when Miller turns, all five of them, bright smiles pasted on despite their downright alarming assortment of accessories, wave back.

When Miller and Monty turn back, Miller’s eyes dart to Bryan, who not only looks quite pale, but seems to be sweating just a bit at the temples. “So, uh, you’re friends with all of those guys, huh?” Bryan asks, and Miller almost feels badly for him--some of those people were _his_ friends, too. But then he remembers why they’re no longer friends and squashes that sympathy ruthlessly.

“Yup!” Monty affirms. “They’re straight from the nuthouse, but they’re ours, huh, Nate?”

“They certainly are,” Miller intones, arms crossed. He can’t quite figure out if he’s mad at their interference or not; he was so close to finishing his conversation with Bryan, to getting the closure he wanted. However, it _does_ feel good to know that his friends quite literally had his back, even if they spent that time creepily watching it.

“How rude of me,” Monty sticks out his hand. “Are you Bryan? I’m Monty.”

Bryan slowly shakes his hand. “Monty, huh?” He glances at Miller. “The new boyfriend, then?”

“That’s me,” Monty says proudly. “The scumbag ex-boyfriend, then?”

Bryan glances at Miller, who says nothing. He’s a little shocked at Monty’s forwardness--he isn’t usually so confrontational--but he knows that Monty’s protective of the people he loves, and it warms Miller to know that he’s one of them (although he’s _known_ that for a while, it’s one thing to know something and another to see it in action so clearly).

Bryan clears his throat. “I, uh, should I _go_?”

“Probably,” Monty says cheerfully, shamelessly, “but I’m going to get back to my friends.” He looks at Miller. “See you later?” he asks, tone light but question clearly loaded.

Miller’s lips quirk up. “Yeah,” he promises. “I’ll come sit with you guys after we’re done here.”

Monty beams at him, and walks away, and Bryan and Miller are quiet for a moment.

Finally Bryan sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “That I hurt you. I am. I really am sorry.”

Bryan’s never been a liar. His words are sincere. “I know,” Miller murmurs. “But that doesn’t make it okay.”

“You’re happy?” Bryan asks. His eyes flicker to the table of Miller’s friends where Monty’s sitting with a smile on his face that reaches his eyes, Jasper’s arm lazily draped over his shoulder as he holds up Octavia’s fake-nunchucks with his free hand. “They make you happy?”

 _They’re my wolf-pack_ , Miller thinks. His family. “They do.”

“And Monty…” Bryan trails off, his voice almost confused as he says the boy’s name. “He’s… he treats you right?” _Better than you did_ , Miller wants to snap. But that’s rude, and not necessarily true. Bryan was great to Miller while they were together, just as Monty’s great to him now. “Because that’s really what I care about,” Bryan adds, his voice softer. “That you’re happy. That he’s treating you right.”

Miller looks down at his tray. “I think I love him,” he admits.

Bryan’s eyebrows come together as though he’s in pain, but a soft smile flickers on his face. “Okay.” He dips his head into a nod, looking back at Monty’s table again. “Okay, Nathan.” He reaches out to him again and this time Miller doesn’t recoil. Bryan squeezes his hand once. “That’s good,” he says gently. “I’m happy for you.” Miller hesitates and Bryan must see it. “I really am,” he stresses. “You deserve to be happy.”

Miller caves, letting out a short sigh. “So do you,” he murmurs. Because he does. Bryan made some mistakes, but he was still Miller’s first love.

Bryan shrugs. “Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he means it. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” Miller says, but he’s not sure if he means it. On one hand, he would like them to be friends again one day-- they’ve been through too much together to just throw that way. On the other hand, the situation is still a bit too raw in some ways, and Miller would prefer to move on completely.

Once Bryan leaves, Miller doesn’t waste any time in dropping his tray off at the nearest garbage station and coming over to his friends, face stony.

They all stop when they see him, looming over them, arms crossed. Even Bellamy and Clarke’s eyes are wide, not sure as to how he’s going to react. They all look at each other in silence for a moment until Miller sighs, grabs a chair and drags it over to the front of the booth.

“So… you’re not mad?” Raven squints, trying to gauge him.

Bellamy clears his throat. “Listen, Miller--”

“I can handle stuff myself, you know,” Miller says evenly. “I’m not the wreck I was back in January.”

“We know,” Octavia says, biting her lip. “We weren’t planning on interfering--”

“Uh-huh,” Miller interjects, eyes flickering towards Monty and then away again.

“We just wanted to be here,” Clarke insists, “just in case you needed back-up.”

“We know you can handle it on your own,” Bellamy says quietly. “We just… you just shouldn’t have to, that’s all.”

Jasper nods, as serious as Miller’s ever seen him. “We’re The Fam,” he says. “We’re _your_ fam.”

Miller finally lets the grin he’s been holding back spread across his face. “I know,” he says. “Thanks.”

He looks at them all, their answering, relieved smiles beaming back at him, and then he slides his chair closer to one end of the booth, where Monty is. The lively conversations start back up around them, as Monty looks at him, love and adoration in his dark eyes. Underneath the table, Monty’s fingers thread into his.

“Not mad?” Monty asks quietly, needing to hear it again.

“Not mad,” Miller confirms, squeezing Monty’s hand.

“And you’re sure you’re okay?” Monty murmurs. “You got what you needed?”

In answer Miller tugs him closer, releases Monty’s hand to wrap his arm around Monty’s shoulders and presses a kiss on his temple. “Yeah,” he says. “I have all that I need right here.”

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to check out "mouthfuls of forever" which has all the in-between moments! it's just straight up minty fluff, my friends.


End file.
